Maybe Swearing Will Help (SWAT Generation 2.0 3)

I frowned. “I’ve never really… I’m not experienced.”

“You’ve taken a lot of schooling,” he said bluntly. “You’ve gone through all the courses that we would require of our detectives anyway. And, from what I gather, you’re not really interested in being a cop as much as utilizing your degree.”

I blew out a breath.

“I’m going to fill this out. Then I’m going to go through the academy when it starts. Following that… I’ll get back to you. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes,” I admitted.

He snorted. “This is my department, honey. If they didn’t want me making decisions, they should’ve found someone else to fill these shoes.”Chapter 3

Not sure why the detectives of KPD are mostly guys. A woman’s ability to find shit out is unmatched.

-Ashe’s secret thoughts

Ashe

One month later

The first day, in the very first minute, was the moment that I knew that I made the wrong decision.

“What do you mean he already did the photoshoot?” I asked in confusion.

“It says here that calendar sales have gone through the roof,” my mom said. “On their Facebook page. Will you go buy me four or five?”

“Dad’s not gonna want a calendar up on his wall of Ford.” I commented.

She snickered. “Maybe not, but I’m going to have it anyway.”

My dad would give my mom absolutely anything. Even allow her to have pictures of guys half her age on the kitchen wall.

“But anyway, how excited are you for your first day at police academy?” she asked, momentarily bringing me back to the topic at hand.

“I’m not excited, per se,” I said. “More like anxious. I’m not really sure that I want to go. But I made that bet with Ford… which, might I add, seems stupid now that the photoshoot has already been done.”

My mother chuckled. “Didn’t you promise him a date? Maybe he just really wanted a date with you enough that he lied.”

I snorted.

“Mother,” I said. “Last week, I saw Ford with some beauty queen. She had a head full of long, red hair that fell softly down her back in waves. She had beautiful lips and perky tits. And she was about eleven feet tall in five-inch heels. Trust me when I say, I’m not his type.”

My mom giggled. “I don’t think Ford even knows what his type is.”

He might not, but I knew that I wasn’t it.

At five-foot-three and a half, I was below average in height. I had gray fucking hair that I’d thought about dying a normal color about eight million times. I had thighs and ass for days, but my boobs were nothing to write home about.

Oh, and I had freckles. A lot of them.

Standing next to Ford, I felt like a frumpy loser.

Ashe: I thought the calendar shoot wasn’t until the next month?

Ford: That’s what you get for thinking.

Ashe: You were always going to do the shoot, weren’t you?

Ford: Yes. But I wasn’t going to donate to your charity. I was going to donate to something else. Probably a dog charity.

Ashe: You’re such a dick.

Ford: I have a dick, so that’s not so bad of a comparison.

Ashe: Oh, by the way. I put you as an emergency contact on my phone. If I have what the watch considers a ‘hard fall,’ it contacts you before contacting medical services. Just FYI. I didn’t think it was a good idea to put my parents when they’re so far away.

The real reason that I put Ford was that, despite his annoyance for me, he still had my back just as I had his. I was fairly sure that I was listed as one of his emergency contacts as well.

“I’m sorry, but is this class interrupting your social time?” a snotty, not amused at all, male voice asked.

I looked up from my phone to see a man standing at the front of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, looking at me as if I’d just committed the ultimate faux pas.

I raised my arm up and stared at my watch.

It was fourteen minutes until eight. I still had fourteen minutes until the class was supposed to start.

“I apologize,” I said, placing my phone down on the tabletop in front of me. “I thought the class started at eight.”

I looked around to see the room about half filled with students. Way less than the thirty that Luke had quoted as being there.

Just as I thought that, two other students trickled in, unaware of the tension in the room rising.

“I’m sorry, but are you the instructor?” teacher man asked.

I raised a brow and didn’t answer.

“I’m talking to you. That requires an answer,” Asshole said.

I narrowed my eyes so that I could see his name that was embroidered on his shirt.

Patman. Sergeant Patman.

Yay.

“No, I’m not an instructor,” I said simply.

“I didn’t think so,” he snapped. “And there are no cell phones in this classroom. If you’d like to text, please feel free to stay outside and do so.”